


Around the Sun

by calydon



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calydon/pseuds/calydon
Summary: “If we keep this up I’m gonna need a hip replacement,” he says.She huffs out a laugh and he looks over at her. She’s wearing his flannel shirt, lopsided on her smaller frame, and her hair is a mess and he gets the urge to pinch himself again.“I’ll go easy on you.”





	Around the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Set after, and featuring spoilers for, Fallen Kingdom.

They used to have breakfast in bed on Sundays, back when they were together. He always liked it – the lazy, quiet mornings and the privacy of it, seeing her relaxed and bare-faced and disheveled, the way nobody else ever saw her. The things that were just for him.

That feels like ancient history, and he hasn’t given it much thought lately. But now he’s standing at the kitchen counter pouring milk in her mug and she’s here, in his bed for the first time in over a year, the smell of coffee and toast filling the cramped interior of his van, as if nothing has changed.

He takes the three steps from the pantry to the bed, carefully getting back in and handing her one of the mugs. 

“Thanks,” Claire says. She brushes her hair out of her face and takes a careful sip.

Everything is laid out in front of her on a cutting board serving as a makeshift tray on the rumpled sheets. It’s simple: toast and a bowl full of grapes that she bought when they were passing through the nearby town on the way here. 

She looks at him, a soft smile on her face. She had a nightmare last night and woke him up with a flurry of panicked movements. It took her a long time to go back to sleep, even after she returned to her favored position, pressed up against his side, head on his shoulder and hand on his chest, Owen drawing patterns on her shoulder. It shows in the shadows under her eyes. Still, she looks content. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it, and it occurs to him, not for the first time, just how lucky he is that she’s here. She’s back. 

Things _have_ changed. Things are an unholy mess. But for the most part, it feels like every time they’ve done this in the past; quiet, comfortable, with no need for embellishments. Just the way he likes it. Rain is batting down on the roof of the van and the trees outside, and low, soft notes of country music are coming from his beat-up old radio on the windowsill.

It’s been raining almost non-stop since they got here. It was Zia who suggested Claire go with him, as if they needed two sets of hands to pick up his laptop and some shirts, and offered to hold the fort in San Francisco for a few days. She might as well have handed them a pack of condoms.

So they went. They both grew quiet as they were driving and the roads became smaller and rougher the closer they got, tension building in the car and the sizzle of anticipation kicking in. Neither of them said anything about it, but they both knew. And now they’re here, holed up together far away from everyone and everything else, sleeping and talking and reacquainting themselves. Making up for lost time.

Claire props a few pillows behind her and settles in, one long, pale leg folded underneath her and the other stretched out across his. She hums absently along to a John Denver song as she hands him a slice of toast, and it makes him smile. Earlier in the relationship, she used to change the music after a respectable fifteen minutes or so, whenever he put it on.

He’s half lying, half sitting against the headboard, listening to the rain and basking in the quiet lull of the morning and the post-coital haze.

“If we keep this up I’m gonna need a hip replacement,” he says.

She huffs out a laugh and he looks over at her. She’s wearing his flannel shirt, lopsided on her smaller frame, and her hair is a mess and he gets the urge to pinch himself again.

“I’ll go easy on you.”

He reaches for her, slides his hand along her leg and feels the tender skin at the fold of her knee.

They haven’t really talked about this yet. He knows they need to. They’ve barreled into it the same way they did last time, slipped back into the comfort of each other like old pajamas. And he thinks that maybe that’s okay, that after everything they’ve been through they should allow themselves this little interlude while the shock is still ringing in their ears, before their brains come fully back online.

They can’t continue like this, and they both know it. But they’re going to talk about it. And for now, they’re going to make the most of the time they have, tucked away up here, far removed from the real world.

He throws a glance at the toast in her hand.

“I knew you’d take the last of the cream cheese,” he says.

She scoffs incredulously. “You don’t even like cream cheese!”

“Maybe I do now.”

He’s about to reach for a grape when she runs her index finger along the edge of her toast, turns to him, and then smears a line of cream cheese down his cheek, all the way to the corner of his mouth. She adds a dollop to the tip of his nose and he looks up at her with a deadpan expression.

“Really?”

“There you go,” she says. She’s barely suppressing her smile, grinning at him like she’s just pulled off the ultimate prank. It would be ridiculous if it wasn’t so endearing, and as he looks at her, his throat goes tight and he can feel his heart twist with how much he’s missed her.

She licks the last of it off her fingertip and sets her breakfast aside on the bedside table. Then, she leans in, slides her hand into his hair and kisses his nose, his cheek, tongue darting out to get it all off. He shudders pleasantly with each little kiss, and then she reaches his mouth, kissing him properly. He can taste it on her, along with the coffee she’s been drinking.

“You’re right,” he murmurs against her mouth. “I don’t like cream cheese.”

“Good.”

He kisses her again, brief and sweet, and feels the buzz of contentment when she runs her fingers back and forth in his hair. She does that a lot, ever since the tentative beginnings when he was staying at her apartment in San Diego. 

He pulls her into his lap and she straddles him, cotton sheets rustling and warm skin touching his. As he slides his hands up her thighs, he skims gently over the bandage covering her wound. It comes back to him then, and he tries to steer his mind away from the burn of the memory, the panic and the glass shards and her blood and the moment he had to _leave her there_ –

Thoughts that jump out at him out of nowhere, even when everything is good and he _feels_ good.

He focuses on her soft skin and the soothing sound of the rain and her weight on top of him. She’s here, in his van, in his bed. In his lap. Warm and happy and very much alive.

He reaches for the hem of the flannel shirt and rubs the washed-out material between his fingers. The sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and every other button is undone, slivers of pale skin peeking through. 

“I look like a lumberjack,” she says with a little smirk, and he snorts.

“A very sexy lumberjack.”

She leans in to kiss him again, her hair falling around his face and the smell of that same vanilla lotion from what feels like a lifetime ago all around him. They’re going back tomorrow, and it won’t be as simple as this anymore, and part of him wants to stay in this bubble forever. He knows that a part of her wants that too. 

But there’s also a voice in his head that’s gearing up to figure his life out, that wants to see if they can make this work for real. And he knows that if they can, that’s going to be so much better than this. 

So, he’s decided. He’s not going to fuck this up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
